Inspired by the Spire
by hippopotimoose-moo
Summary: Overhaul under construction chapters are being revised and are undergoing some extra twist only the first five chapters have been swapped so far :D
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMY THINGY: I soooo wish I owned Oblivion, but sadly, I do not. Other aspects I have graciously added for other gamers like myself, do enjoy would you? ON WITH A CHAPPY! (Hope you like the revised better, I know I do!)

Chapter 1

She sat on the massive steps of the castle and leaned her head on her hands. Everything had gone so wrong. She had never meant to end up where she was but she had had no choice. What had happened? She knew all too well what had happened. She had run out of options and the only way out was by joining the Dark Brotherhood. She had begun killing in the Arena after that sot left her outside a sewer and then murdered one of her teammates who had helped her out. It was a mercy to the poor Orc. He didn't want to live with himself after knowing what he truly was: a halfling vampire. Then when she became the Grand Champion she could only fight once a week. The thrill had gone along with all the money, for staying in the Imperial City wasn't easy, nor cheap. Killing other people from other teams didn't bother her. It was him, the Gray Prince. He had trained her how to lunge and block and. . .well, all sorts of things, he had been her friend after it all. It had taken her two years to fight her way to the top. Two years of bloodshed, entrails, and experience. Enough so that it had hardened her heart as well as her physical self. Only after she had killed the Gray Prince did Lucian show up. Her dreams were uneasy and burdened with an uncertain element until she had spoken to him. He had offered her a family that she could rely on. He offered her money. It seemed so long ago, now, even though it had only been six months. She had killed Rufio like he had asked and visited her at her camp in the mountains to tell her to visit Ocheeva in the "abandoned" house in Cheydinhal. She was on the run from the Imperial Legion Officers though. She hadn't been caught but she was just a suspicious looking sort. Not a whole lot of women go around in armor and have the skills with a bow that she did. Ocheeva would have to wait until she got this settled out. Oh well.

A lofty Jeral Mountain breeze lifted her red hair from her pale blue cheeks. She sat, and sat, and sat, and thought. The castle behind her stretched high into the sky. The name Frostcrag Spire fit it well. At least that's what the deed said. The deed that she had pick pocketed off of the Imperial man in the Imperial City. He had been a very hard mark, but she had seen the messenger run up to him. She had overheard the conversation that they had had. His great uncle had passed and he had left the Spire to him. He didn't even read the deed, and he was buying supplies to go off to Chorrol anyway. It was dusk when he started out. Her cuirass of Chameleon had made her nearly invisible in the oncoming darkness. The seal on the parchment hadn't even been broken. He was a handsome enough sort. He had long dark red hair and a bit of red facial hair. His eyes were a dark blue, piercingly so, as a matter of fact. His piercing stare was trained on the road ahead and seemed to be reading an invisible letter written in the sky. It was easy for her to slip her invisible hand into his pack and extract the parchment.

The road up to Frostcrag Spire was harder traveled and just by a hair's breadth did she make it up the vicious slats of ice and trudging through the knee-deep snow was like walking with two dead horses tied to each leg. She knew it would be worth it though when she got there. It just seemed. . . vast. It looked like a piece of a castle, just one big spire, and so dubbed. She had gotten the key out of the sealed parchment and opened the door to expect just a castle. It had been just a circular room with a large ice hand reaching up through the middle of the flag stoned floor. A book lay in its palm. She laid the deed down and opened the book. The letters glowed red and the circular room started to part. Wondrously, the rest of Frostcrag Spire opened up to her. Her safe haven would have been her torment if she hadn't opened that book, or, was it the deed and the book? She would probably never know. She allowed her power to flow into a glowing ball above her palm. Light spewed onto the floor before her and didn't reach the other side of the room. She conjured several of the power lights and went around the room trailing them. Some form of what would be a library was to the left. A table and more library shelves were to the right. The middle of the room was bare but for two portals to the left and the right, and raising about six feet from the floor was an altar and two smaller altars straight ahead.

She allowed her power to flow into the portal on the right. She was immediately transported to a master chamber. She was astounded by the luxurious detail that the uncle had bestowed to the overwhelming space. A large bed covered with fine green and gold silk, a large trunk set to the left hand side and a great hand crafted cupboard to the right, along with a hulking alchemical station, the Eternal Flame burning brightly in a patterned goblet, and, beyond a massive doorway, lay three huge circular stone diases, each holding a separate "garden." There were ingredients from Oblivion itself!

She had lain on the warm bed and thought nothing of her predicament and went to sleep. Oddly enough, even though it was called Frostcrag Spire, it wasn't cold inside (it wasn't warm either) but a kind of comfortable cool. The beautiful hand woven blanket surrounded her and a cloud of dreamless sleep enveloped her.

The morning sun warmed her red eyes beneath the lids and she woke. Now was the time to think. She went out on the steps and there she sat, thinking.

Her previsions were getting low. The road ahead was a long one and she probably wouldn't reach it to Cheydinhal on just those that she had. She had to find a fence, someone who would pay off the bounty of the murderer. She knew that the best place to look for a fence would be Bravil. She had heard of a Kajit woman there who helps out the beggars. And the best way to avoid the soldiers is to swim through the canal and under the massive outer walls. Even tho the town was poor and badly managed by a drunkard didn't mean caution could be thrown to the wind. Who knew what would-be-hero would come bounding thru?

No time like the present. She pushed herself up off of the stone steps and gazed at the beautiful sunrise before her. Going down the Jeral Mountains would be treacherous. Avoiding the Imperial Legion Foresters would be even more so. She would have to stay off of the roads and wear her cuirass of Chameleon at all times.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Oblivion. Well. . . I don't, never will, wish I did cuz I'd be a friggin' MILLIONAIRE! But I don't. So there. You are gonna love this, I PROMISE!

AN: For those of you who haven't found the Curiass of Chameleon yet SPOILER ALERT! It's in Pale Pass when you do the mission for the queen of Bruma. I'm not sure but she only sends for you after you've found an Ayleid artifact and sold it. Same with Umbacanno. So, if you're not into Ayleid ruin diving, like I am, you will not be able to do this mission! With all that unneeded bantering I am forced to continue on with my chapter. I hope you like this little tale that I've spun. It stays sort of close to the story line in the game with A LOT of embellishment by, the one and only, ME! You're supposed to clap, now. Okay, you think I'm a lunatic, but that's okay! You'll see. Read on my faithful people and be very afraid of what is to happen. Yes, there will be bloodshed and much violence and, well, you know. READ and REVIEW! For the love of all that is good in this world PLEASE!

Chapter Two

Her supplies were ready, her bedroll rolled, and the sun had already risen to its halfway point in the sky. She knew she only had a few hours of light left in the Jerall mountain ranges, but if she managed to get to the plains below she might be able to have enough light left to make camp. Heading west towards Bruma was going to be a risk, but she needed provisions, she needed them badly. She hated to leave this wonderful place, this "Spire", but she needed to get going if she ever wished to reach Bruma before her supplies ran out.

A blur out of the corner of her eye thru the window. Something was coming. Something black and fast. Fear leapt into her throat, a filter that was too hard to breathe thru. Fear was something very uncommon to her, seeing as how she was adapted to having nearly anything and everything run at her. They usually came at her with weapons tho and, usually, she knew they were coming at her. A hollow ring vibrated in the air around her as she drew her long sword from its baldric on her back. Thank the Nine she had remembered to put her hair up with her mothers' sticks before she drew her sword. She had had a nasty habit in the arena of forgetting and then having pieces of red hair crookedly chopped from her mane.

The Spire itself seemed to sing with her blade. She forced her magick into the portal, immediately transported to the Spire's main level, she then ran to the door. Sybelle pushed only slightly, knowing the huge copper frame would groan if she opened it in a rush. She had to remain unseen. Maybe it didn't know she was there? Perhaps it was the man who went to Chorrol. Could he have gotten the directions from the messenger before he left? No, the messenger left to gather the uncle's estate before the man got there. Then, the messenger, perhaps?

A small shaft of light shot past her feet as she eased open the door. Nothing stood in front of the door. Sybelle pressed her red left eye to the slit in the door. Amazed, she stood motionless in the doorway. A huge black mare stood on the stone steps outside. She opened the door just wide enough for her to slide thru. She kept her long blade unsheathed. She stepped past the massive black horse and peeked around the sides of the Spire. The curves of the small castle gave way to nothing but sky and snow. If a person had been here recently there was no sign. No footprints in the snow, and now, she saw that snow had settled into the seat of the saddle.

"What are you doing here? Surely an animal as fine as you would have a host about you," she whispered sheathing her sword quietly, no need to spook the poor beast. The great black mare merely stood there gracefully, betraying nothing to the dark elfin woman. The deep black saddle creaked and groaned with the horses breathing. She didn't even seem out of breath. As fast as this horse was it was a wonder that she wasn't out of breath. Some stupid thrill seeker had gone into a cave and gotten his self killed. That was the only answer she could think of. The mare shook the snow from her shaggy black coat and the saddle atop her. The saddle had markings on it that she had never seen before, not even in the Ayleid ruins that she had discovered. There were hammered silver plates tooled to the saddle that were just as illusive.

Sybelle stroked the black hand tooled leather and muttered absently, "Must've been a Royal stupid thrill seeker." She opened the saddlebags tied to the back of the saddle searching for gold or other valuables. There was nothing but a piece of parchment fit with a seal that looked to be as royal as the horse and the saddle. She peeled the wax from the center and unrolled the parchment.

To my dear Sister,

A gift, for you to find your way to your new home. Her name is Shadowmere. She has a talent that is almost as unique as your own. I do not travel as much as I did and she grows restless in waiting. She will bring you to Cheydinhal and thus into darkness. Sithis Himself has given you a wonderful. . . "talent," shall we say, dear one? She will bring you safely home and take you anywhere else you wish to be. I warn you now, she has limited patience, as do I. I await your homecoming.

Now, down to business. I am in need of your services. You are fresh and dedicated, more so than, let's say, some of a "higher" calling. An outlook like that is hard to come by in this order of business. You appreciate your "prey" and that is part of why I have taken a personal liking to your work. Do Not Disappoint Me.

_LL_

She stood mute in the chill air and merely stared at the mare. L.L. That had to be Lucien Lechance. It could be no one else to have written so intimately about her "talents." A gift? Who would give so grand a gift? Her pale blue face tightened in a wicked smile. A father would give this to his daughter. Her head tilted back in pride as her red hair tossed in the wind. Sybelle Lynowik, cursed dark elf orphan was no more. She was now Sybelle Lynowik, daughter of Sithis and The Night Mother.

AN: REVIEW! You don't even have to effin' READ IT JUST REVIEW! Please, just one of you. I thought it was good! HELP ME OUT HERE PEOPLE! I'll give you blood and gore in the next chapter just please bare with me. And I know it doesn't stick to the game completely but then there wouldn't be any surprises, now would there?


	3. Chapter 3

I did the disclaimy thing once and I'm not doing it again. So there. -

AN: First comes murder, then there's the slaughter, blood runs as free falling water… I'm so creepy sometimes I scare me. BE WARNED! I told you there would be blood in this chapter and so . . . well. . . there is! I couldn't come up with anything cooler to say. My little brilliant light just turned off. Crap.

First Comes Murder

Sybelle's resolve wasn't as fast as Shadowmere, but then again, nothing she had ever known was as fast as the black mare. All she had done was jumped on her back and wanted to go to Bravil. Then, as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she was there, in the city. The Kajiit woman that she was looking for was called Skreeva. She knew her only by reputation, but then again, there was hardly anyone who hadn't heard of Skreeva.

Sybelle had paid her fine hastily under the cover of darkness. In her rising panic she hurriedly told Shadowmere to take her to Lucien, and again, she was just there, outside of a small fort.

Lucian wasn't outside anywhere, but she did find a huge tree with a portal that lead down into the depths of the castle. He had been there waiting for her. He had given Sybelle her assignment and, now, she was staring at the man that she intended to murder.

Her resolve was diminishing. Her courage wilting, and yet, she felt a strange sort of excitement, a yearning that had been left unfilled. The young man had boasted that he was immortal, that none could outshine his outlandish beauty. Sybelle had to admit he was a rather beautiful man, perhaps, too beautiful. It was his wife that had prayed to the Night Mother. So strange that a woman would be jealous of her husband. Lucien had then explained the affairs and the night life of which the young man had been living. He was never seen by daylight anymore, and he rather liked to take more than one young lady to an abandoned house. His name was Vincente Valtieri.

Yet, somehow, this seemed so ordinary and so out of place at the same tyme. It was well after dark when she had spotted him leading three young ladies from the tavern to the abandoned house, long past the outskirts of town. The old house was broken down and didn't look to be much use, but she guessed as long as it had enough room for Vincente and his entourage and a good solid floor that it would suffice for his needs. Sybelle held her breath in the shadows as he led the girls up the outdoor stairwell to the rooms above. Hours and hours passed as Sybelle lay in wait, behind the ale barrels underneath the stairwell. Her legs began to pound with her heartbeat, if Vincente ran, she wouldn't be able to follow. Sybelle doubted she could make her legs do much of anything but ache. Hours and hours of the usual moaning, giggling, and sounds of passionate pain, he could've at least closed the window, even if the sounds of the girls' pleasure did sound genuine. Then, things got quiet as they all fell asleep together, the whores. Her violet coloured eyelids started to sink lower and lower on her deep red eyes.

A silence so profound stole over the whole valley. There was no whisper of wind, no birds little feet landing on a tree limb, everything was dead silent. Sybelle heard her eyes splash closed and hinge themselves' back open. A small creak of a floorboard upstairs, a whooshing whisper, and a thud as the young man hit the dirt in front of the staircase, a black blur of shadow, no more than even a glimpse of silhouette. He stood faster than Sybelle could blink and was gone around the next hill and into the morning haze before she could think to follow.

She wasn't worried, this man, Vincente, was a creature of habit. All people are, but some in ways beyond all understanding. Vincente was predictable, and, at the very least, well practiced at what he did. That's why he left the window open, so that he could make a silent escape from his whores. He skipped the stairs altogether because they creaked with the wind anyway, much less if weight was applied, and for the fact that it was much faster to just bypass them altogether. Yes, Vincente Valtieri was a well practiced whoremonger. No wonder why his wife wanted him dead. Sybelle sat in the shadows a while longer and decided that the broads weren't going to get up soon.

She pulled herself quietly upright (as much pain and agony as it caused her) she got up silently. She then positioned herself away from the house to watch them leave. Then she could get a better position inside the house. After the three or four or five (however many he could charm into coming with him) went to sleep, she could slip in and slit his vile throat.

Hours passed and the sun came to its zenith and started to go down again. Sybelle's body throbbed and choked with each movement, her mind registered the thought that maybe something more had happened inside that little hut than she had realized. She decided to go into the house. She crept up the side of the house and climbed the thick Wisteria vines that crawled onto the upstairs landing. She was a whisper of black cloth and red hair. Sybelle's red eyed gaze slid over the windowsill.

The bright evening sunlight ran straight thru the window and onto a scene that Sybelle had never even dreamt of seeing in her nightmares. A coppery metallic taste filled her mouth as bile made way for the contents of her dry stomach. She heaved over the landing and onto the ground below, the splashing noises just made her think of blood. Although her eyes were shut and straining against the force of her vomit she could see nothing but what was held in that room's dark embrace. She forced herself to go back, to look upon what this demented man had done to those poor whores. Whores were people too after all.

The sunlight landed in a stream onto the bodies in succession. The first victim farthest from the light. She felt her cheeks filling with colour, her skin superheated, flushed and angry she stood just staring. Sybelle burned every facet of the room into her memory. She would make him pay, and pay in kind. Vincente Valtieri was going to die that night, and it was going to be a long night.

The first girl was the one that he had obviously taken the most tyme with. Her long blonde hair was undone with last night's activities and, was now matted with dried blood with this mornings'. Her pale face paint had been smudged and smeared with passionate kisses and then frozen in place with fear and encrusted with shades of crimson. Her eyes lay open, fear and pain etched in every busted blood vein. Her body lay crumpled in a heap at the head of the bed. Her thin sculpted appendages mangled and looked to be tortuously broken. How had she not heard her scream? She must've already been dead when he took his true pleasure from her. Her pristine and cultured skin now crusted with her own blood. Her perfect breasts were her pride last night and now. . . it was just a matter of trying to find all the pieces of flesh and putting them back together. The skin of her neck broken and had the consistency of ground meat. Looking into her dead eyes, Sybelle lost what was left of her stomach acid over the railing.

The other two had died mercifully quick. Their throats had been cut. Sliced so quick and so hard that she could see pieces of long noodles hanging from the inside of their throats. Blood and noodles and meat lay splattered together on the floor. She remembered that the other two girls had had dark hair last night. Now they had none, their scalps had been removed. He obviously took trophies from the lesser of his victims. Buy why not the blonde? Why not the most beautiful? Did he feel masked by her beauty and not the others?

She noticed the little details, he had a wash basin in the room. It was freshly used by him. There was blood all over it, dried where it had been dripping from the sides, and a hand towel died pink by the diluted blood from his hands. Clever man, but not clever enough. Sybelle climbed inside the window. She tiptoed around the blood and shoved her pack under the bed. She then took a long look at the women. She saw something she hadn't noticed before, all three of the women had their legs spread and blood came from each gaping orifice. There was no woman hood left to see there. What was his point? And why take one trophy from all three women if he was going to leave the most beautiful singular? She would probably never know. She thought better of hiding under the massive bed. He would have to clean up for his entourage that night. Sybelle slipped into one of the rooms downstairs and cut the stuffing out of a plush couch. The dust on the floor admitted guiltily to the fact that no one had stepped foot in this room for over a decade. She placed a glamour over the floor to hide her entrance and the excess stuffing and crawled inside the couch carefully positioning the cushion over herself and went to sleep.

Sybelle lay there dreaming of what she should do to him, of how much of his screaming she would hear. She fell asleep smiling and dreaming of tasting his blood on her tongue.

AN: I told you there would be blood. There is a point to every insignificant detail in this story. Pay attention and don't think it's trivial. Irony is one of my favorite things, irony usually sucks, but with me, I like to change it up a bit, SO BE PREPARED! And, yes, Shadowmere is my way of fast travel, get over it. That is my original idea, you can't take it! MINE!


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Yerpaderp. . . . disclaimy. . . . yerpaderp

The Red Eyed Needle

His breaths were slow and even as he slept. He looked too peaceful. The girl lay on the floor. She had bled out hours before. It was three hours before sunrise. She had three hours to play with her new toy. Her only purpose now was to kill, she may as well enjoy it.

Sybelle placed the needle at his right temple. If she hit him just right, he would be paralyzed. The knob was sturdy and had never given under her palm. She trusted it now. He would be dreaming, thinking that the breath on his face was that of a simpleminded bar maid whom he would dispatch without mercy. He would be dreaming. In a few moments, he would be screaming. She smiled.

She straightened her arm and, all at once, she shoved with all her body weight onto the knob.

The weight of her body was supposed to push against the skin and bone and brain. Why was she falling onto the bed? Why was she suddenly jerked back? A hand at her mouth?

"Don't make a sound," he whispered. Reality rushed around her. Behind her was her mark. She pulled her head forward. His hands tried to pull her head back. She let her head use the momentum of his hand to push her head back and put her own force with it. Her head bent back with inhuman force. "You are a spirited one!" He laughed in her ear. How had she missed?! How?! The room was cold and spinning out of focus. Then, there was nothing.

He was laughing at her. His voice rang in the room and she was aware of it. She was barely aware of her body. Shifting endlessly. Solid and compact, in a prison of flesh, with a name and a mind. "I'm not afraid of you," she whispered. "I know you, and your kind. Not well enough I assume, otherwise I would already be dead," her lips curled in a sneer and her eyes focused on him. He sat across the way on the floor, laughing at her. He reclined against the moldy stone with his left arm over his left knee. His face ruddy with joy as he laughed and bared his fangs unashamedly. It would've been a handsome face, surrounded by all that dark curly hair, if you didn't know the mind behind it and what it was capable of. "You haven't killed me for a reason," she sighed, "what is it?"

"He chose you well," he sobbed through his tearful laughter, dark blue eyes watering and swollen from his fit. Comprehension tried to swallow her, but, unlike herself, she tried not to assume anything. "You were so sure that you had me," he gasped. "Foolish girl," he smiled wickedly. "I will allow you to live for the mere fact of the weapon you chose," his smile sobered, "I know what it is you would've done with it, and I appreciate that," he gazed curiously at her with a piercing blue eyed gaze. "Why, though? Why choose the needle?" His eyes never left hers as she answered.

"If I punctured you right, you would've lived for a long tyme after I'd done it, but you wouldn't've been able to move," the floor was cold against her cheek and made it easier for her to smile, to bait him. "I wanted to take my tyme with you after what I'd seen," her memories wanted to swallow her back into the darkness, she could let it have none of her if she intended to live. His smile instantly sobered, then, it was like he had reclaimed a sense of composure.

"You are a smart one, I'll give you that," his smile returned to torture her. "You leave your head on the floor to keep your mind clear, focused" his eyes flicked to the wrist that was curled under her. That very same wrist hid a weapon of sorts. . . if she threw it right. She smiled, he lunged at her. The metal flew through the air. The knob was too heavy to keep a straight flight so she spun it with her wrist. The needle caught him in the hollow of his neck, above his heart. Vincent smiled, it was no longer the baiting smile that you would give to a petulant child, but the smile of a friend. How handsome he would be if she didn't know that his true pleasure came from destroying a person almost completely. She felt no fear toward this man, strange, even tho she truly did wish him a cruel death for doing what he had done. But still. . . .

His hands grasped the knob of the needle and pulled it out. No blood poured from him. He had no blood to pour. The hands of the dead reached out to her, she grasped those hands and lifted herself from the floor. "You are pure to our cause, young Murderer. You are far too young to know hatred, and regret. Yet your gait betrays you, my friend, you do know. I hope you harness your anger and learn to live with your regret," he smiled at her. Vincent bowed imperiously and held out the needle. "I will forever know you as "The Red Eyed Needle," he put his arm about her shoulders. "Welcome to The Dark Brotherhood, Sybelle."

AN: R AND EFFIN" R! Please! I WUV YOUS!


	5. Chapter 5

Hello! I'm back again! You seem so surprised! grins mischeviously As for the mis-spelling of Vincent's name: I am so effin sorry! But if you actually noticed it or went back in the game to find out whether I mis-spelled it or not , you have way to much tyme on your hands! I'm not making fun of anybody I'm just saying that it's kinda weird. Name's may be spelled incorrectly, my grammar may not be up to snuff and I may, Heaven forbid, even use sentence fragments. Who cares! READ IT AND LOVE IT! Sorry, Plankton temporarily took over my body. Anyways! On with the chappy!

**Chapter Five**

The wind rapped at her flesh incessantly, taking strips of her hair and winding it around her face and neck, the tips of her leather ties going in all directions. The sky shone above her with that deep dark blue that you have to look straight up to see. She smiled. It was over, for awhile anyway. Sybelle peered at the Spire in fondness as she adjusted her pack. She had just come back from the Imperial City. A high elf lay undetected in his own blood in the Temple District. The killing could end for awhile. The Night Mother had called over and over since her first "contract" with Vincente Valtieri. Winter had turned to Spring, and thus Spring into Summer. The snow was still thick around the Spire, the wind still chill, but the sun was warm. The flowers lower on the mountains shone and coloured everything in shifting warmth and loveliness. Sybelle smiled yet again. She almost cried. Her red hair swirled about her in the breeze, in her moment of euphoria. Her pale blue skin lightened by her night-tyme excursions. Red eyes scanned the steppes below, her moment was gone. Uncertainty painted her frail features as it had at random moments on her quest homeward. The man, the man from the city, on his way to Chorrol, she just remembered again, she'd seen him there. She'd seen him in the Imperial City right after she had finished her slightly perturbing walk with Vincente. Her eyes cast down toward the trail at her feet, a frown creasing her brow. She needed to think. The killing might not be over yet after all. She started her way up the trail to the Spire.

Her eyes scanned the book in front of her, over and over and over. She realized she had been reading the same line for awhile. She shook her head, her red hair falling carelessly from the pins that held them. He was on her mind, she couldn't shake it, that thought. He was THERE. There where she had been, was he looking for her? Had he opened the package? No. He couldn't have, the seal had been unbroken. There was absolutely no way at all for him to have found her. If he had been looking for her then when he looked at her there would've been recognition in his eyes. She could have missed that tho. There had been a shock when their eyes had met but not of recognition. There had been something else. He didn't follow her out of the city. He hadn't said anything. She hadn't seen him more than that one tyme. Why had he come to Cheydinhal? He had said to the teller last tyme that he was leaving to Chorrol for somber reasons. Why had he been walking near the bridge that she and Vincente were on? Had he overheard their conversation? It had been Vincente's notice of the man that had shown her he was there in the first place. And even still, the conversation with Vincente was still perturbing her. Not as much as the shock of seeing the Imperial man again but still a tickle of interest that itched her brain. She had always been wary of Vincente since their first day. Knowing that at any moment he may take pleasure in ripping her throat out and "coring" her like an apple was not a good thought to have, it put one on edge.

That night, they had shared their wine (like usual) talking about their kills and their contracts, the promising new murderers that they had enlisted to the Dark Regiment of Sithis. Even tho she was now taking her contracts from Lucian himself she still visited. Her visits were becoming more and more irregular tho. But their friendship never faltered. Vincente had always been apt to show her things and how to do a certain move (taking his tyme while guiding her arm or straightening her back, it was strange at first, then, oddly comforting) always in a respectful manner but always with the lingering knowledge that he was a very handsome being and that she knew he was interested in more than just her quota being met. He always pleasured himself by sharing her arm and she didn't care to let him indulge in that sort of thing if it kept him from killing her. There were tymes when she would forget and see further into his life than that and think that there was no way that he could've done those things to those women, but she had seen, she had seen with her own eyes what he had done. That was proof enough to sober her back into reality.

They had drank and talked and things, until he ventured her for a walk out in the cooling summer Cheydinhal air and she had accepted without a second thought. Now that she was comfortable (and slightly tipsy didn't help) she didn't care. By this point she knew that they were beyond her fear of being ripped apart (even tho it still disturbed her that he would do that, of course) but not to her personally. Had she been too tipsy? Yes, quite but they had went out for the walk anyway. Outside the abandoned house he had taken her around the back to show her the well and the "other" door that was the secret entrance, now that she was trusted within the house. They had walked across town and he had kept her quiet and helped keep her from falling over (yes, she had been far too tipsy for that venture.) They had then come to the bridge and they stopped (or she had rather, leaning against the railing and looking up at the moon) it was so beautiful out that night. "You know," she started, "it's a shame that you're so deranged." She looked into Vincente's handsome face and didn't see the killer that he was, she saw a man, just a man. It was then that he had helped tipped her head upwards to him and kissed her softly. His fangs held within, she knew this to be a kiss of the deepest respect of vampires. Recognition had set in and she had pulled away, "Vincente, you know it can never be this way between us?"

His beautiful blue eyes looked hurt, "And why is that Sybelle?" He queried softly.

"I know what you did to those women, the day we met," she had lowered her eyes. "I know you would never do that to me, but the fact that you could do it at all and gain pleasure from it. . .." she had trailed away.

"Sybelle, I didn. . ." he started and then something had caught his attention. She had turned and seen an Imperial man striding up to the bridge, some ten feet away. She turned back to Vincente and her eyes grew wide with realization. That was the man she had stolen the deed from, the man whom she had stolen her new home from. Azura, guide her! Their eyes had met and thank the Goddess her drunkenness had saved her from being found out! The man's boots made hollow thunks on the bridge as he walked across, right past them. Vincente made no movement that would have made them look suspicious, just two star crossed lovers admiring the view from the bridge, he even took the chance to lean in and kiss her again, one last tyme she supposed, the scoundrel. They had went straight back to the abandoned house after losing the man and Vincente had told her that she could take one last assignment for him and after she finished she could go home and he would call on her with the next contract. He had sent her home for a break. . . . .

Sybelle finally realized that her hand had went to sleep and her Alchemy book still lay open. She had fallen asleep. She had been dreaming of his eyes. His deep, dark blue eyes, and his chestnut coloured hair. An Imperial thru and thru, not a trace of impurity in him she could tell. His high cheekbones, his piercing blue eyes, his moderate nose, his strong neck, the broad chest and shoulders it connected to. . .She shook her hair loose. She was thinking too much of this man, he was flesh and blood. Cut thru the flesh and the blood comes out. Just like the rest of them. Her hair pins fell to the floor.

….

The sun was high, some five weeks later, when she noticed the feeling, the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. Her eyes had jerked from the ingredients on the table. The potion was ruined, who cared, not her, something was wrong. Grievously wrong, somewhere, wrong, just wrong! She stepped out the brass door onto the balcony. There was someone on the road. A small painted horse and a rider. It was him, she knew it was him. She couldn't let him take her home. The Spire was hers now! He couldn't have it!

She sat on the stone hand, lounging there in her best dress. Long, flowing and beaded. She almost looked like a lady. Except for the long sword she had across her lap. A small grin caught the corners of her full lips. She was ready for him. He wouldn't take her home, she wouldn't let him. She had thought about waiting alongside the road for him to pass and then cut him down. But he would've expected it. Marauders were common in the mountains, not at the tops tho. Not where it was cold. Not where she was waiting.

The brass door creaked. She put on her best smile. The door came gliding open. A figure in a black robe entered with merely a hush of robes. Pushing the door to and clicking it shut behind them. The figure turned and stopped. Her smile never faded. Even tho it wasn't him, that didn't eliminate the threat. This was still her home, never to be violated, never to be desecrated. Thinking of her new bloody entryway she smiled.

"Who is your father?" Sybelle whispered. The figure cocked its head. Sybelle grinned ever so sweetly and repeated the question, "Who is your Father?"

"You are the one they call "The Red Eye"? " the robed figure whispered back. Sybelle laughed, assassins, they never call you by your name. This one was smart enough to whisper tho, not fool enough to speak in a regular voice. Letting the enemy know whether you were male or female could be a disadvantage. That was one of the first things that Lucian had taught her.

"WHO IS YOUR FATHER, MURDERER?" Her smile was gone. Her eyes reflected her dark name. The figure stood straighter.

"My Father is Sithis, as is yours, Mistress," the voice was husky and sweet, low but soft, a beautiful voice for a woman. She bowed. "I have news of the greatest import," she said as she lowered her hood. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders, but no amount of hair could hide the point of her ears, a beautiful High Elf.

"Report," Sybelle commanded. The news had to be of utmost importance for them to send someone this far, to the top of the Jerall Mountains, almost to Bruma. A letter was awaiting her, she knew, they always did letters. Nothing could go wrong with a letter. Something had happened. Something wrong.

"Lucian Lechance has been killed for his treachery against Sithis and the Night Mother," she spat excitedly. Sybelle nearly retched. Lucian, gone, for treachery? He was the most loyal to the Night Mother she had seen yet. But the elf kept going, "They skinned him alive for his disobedience, there's to be a new Black Hand. They've sent me to fetch you. You are to be brought to justice as well little one." The elf smiled, she had thought she knew everything, but she was wrong. Sybelle donned her smile once again.

"There was no treachery to be had in Lucian, as there is none in me. Furthermore, I am not to be 'brought to justice.' They would not've sent a lowly murderer to assassinate me. I am best at what I do because of necessity, not for pleasure. My pet you do me wrong to say such things to me," the loving lilt of patience never left her voice, might as well play with her little mind while she awaited the letter. "Now, do tell me what they wanted you to tell me, before I hang you up by your thumbs, skin

you alive and watch you bleed to death in my vault." The effect was not what she expected. The elf laughed, a result she hadn't gotten from anyone but Vincente.

"They had told me it would be difficult with you," she laughed more heartily, tears of relief coming from the corners of her eyes, "but I hadn't expected…." She bent over in her spasms and guffawed until she was out of breath.

"Sorry, sorry, I just didn't expect you to be so polite," the elf looked more carefully at Sybelle's face, she searched her eyes deeply, she straightened and swallowed. The elf knew that if she made a wrong move that death would take her next breathe. Sybelle's blue skinned knuckles had turned a pale grey from gripping the sword so tightly. "The others, they told me that you would kill me as soon as look at me," she smiled, so much for her 'acting natural' when it was not her intended target that walked thru the door, "thank you for being so gracious m'lady. I was only joking, Lucian is dead but they've sent a letter for you. Word is that they either want to kill you or make you part of the new Black Hand," her words hurried and short she handed over a letter with a seal on it.

After reading the letter Sybelle told the girl to leave. She had left as quietly as she came. Lucian was indeed dead. They were holding court with the Night Mother Herself to see what it is they should do about their current crisis. The Black Hand was dead, all of them, by Sybelle's unknowing hand. Lucian had indeed committed treachery, but not only against The Night Mother, but against her as well. Lucian died a quick death compared to what she dreamed of doing to him. Too bad he was already dead, those fools. The highest ranking members of the Brotherhood were being called together for the court. Sybelle packed her things, something was wrong. Horribly, undeniably wrong.

AN: You likey? Me likey! Long chapter for so little to have happened I know, but I wanted to put emphasis on how good she felt to be at Frostcrag Spire, her thoughts on "the man" and Vincente and how good she feels to not have to kill. Everything has its place. R AND R!


	6. Chapter 6

I'm not receiving very many reviews, pah! Grr at you all! You hate me you really hate me!! grins wickedly it's ok tho! I still love all of you who have written to me! I would really like some new takes on this tho. Yes: a love story Yes: full of gore Yes: plenty of mystery ( I think anyway.) What I don't know is what all of you would like to hear. Tell me and the story may take a few surprising twists and turns toward your own ends, maybe not, all depends. I would like to hear from all of you tho.

Chapter 6

Tears rolled from squinted red eyes, as she looked at his rotting corpse. The smell didn't bother her, she had fought worse in the caves and ruins, it was his face. Flesh hung in wads around one side of his head, the birds had already flown in and eaten his eyes, but she could still see him. Lucian, the only man that had been like a father to her was gone. How she hated them, despised them in the worst possible ways. He was still hanging from the rope they had tied him with, she cut loose his bonds. Lucian's maggot-ridden body fell to the floor and exploded with fresh larvae. The maggots splattered across the floor the way his blood should have. How disappointed she was with him. That didn't exclude her surrogate father from a decent burial tho. She had already dug the hole, shallow, but it would do. Sybelle had allowed all of her hate, her frustration to power her dredging arms, to make her breathe, when she so desperately wanted to lay in the hole and cover herself over. What a waste of tyme. . .

Instead, she pulled Lucian's corpse into the hole with the rope he had died wearing and covered him over.

"I pray that the Night Mother will make you pay for your betrayal," she whispered, while trying to wipe the tear streaks from her dirty face.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Sybelle had never felt more free than when she looked at Frostcrag Spire. She never felt more alive and whole than when she walked thru the front doors and gazed at that icey hand. A misnomer if there ever was one, Frostcrag Spire. She dreamt of it when she was awake and read in the library while she was asleep. These dank hallways covered in blood could never be called home.

The placed smelled almost as bad as a fresh Septim. The taste was the same, the aching tang of metal on your tongue. It was almost sickening. She needed the money tho, at least that was her excuse. She hated killing. She hated the begging for mercy and the blood. She buckled her armored corset tighter around her absently as she stalked the hallways and thought. In the end tho, they were all quiet and then she got to go home. It was worth it. No longer her family, her only family died screaming with a rope tied to his ankles. . .

"You seem distracted," Vincent's cultured voice purred from the shadows. Sybelle slowly turned her head toward the dark corner of the hall she was rounding. He stood there, mute, awaiting her response, tall and proud, just like always. Wearing that long coat and belted breeches he always wore.

"Do you always lurk in shadows, Vincent, or is it merely for my benefit?" She queried, arching an eyebrow at him.

He laughed good naturedly and said, "Sometymes, I do believe it is just for your benefit." He smiled showing his fangs, he never did that to anyone else. He would never let his fangs slip into view in front of anyone but her, just her. It was quite odd, now that she had come to think of it. "You do seem troubled tho, my pet," he scolded, "Come now, you can't hide anything from me, as you well know." The darkness of the shadows filled his eyes as he stepped into the torchlit corridor.

"Do not play this game with me again, Vincent, I don't feel like it," she warned, "and don't call me your "pet." I am no one's property, much less their pet," she spat the last words at him. A pained look crossed his face.

"You do me wrong to not accept my gifts," he whispered, looking at her thru the corner of his eye. "I would think that you would appreciate the attention I give you," he said. Sybelle watched his hand as it slid down her arm, then she turned her eyes to his, a black shadow of hate filled them.

"You haven't overstepped you bounds this badly before Vincent. I've told you tyme and tyme again, " her jaw set in anger, " I will not become a vampire. I will not become what you are. Seeing what you did with such pleasure all that tyme ago has taken a piece of me," she whispered the last in reverence as she gazed farther into the darklit corridor. "These walls are covered in blood, and I have helped with that, but I will not kill for pleasure." She turned a heated stare up to him.

"You do me wrong to think of that," he whispered. "I told you once and I'll tell you again I was merely doing as I was ordered by the Night Mother, Herself," he explained, again. He grabbed her arm, "That piece of you is what I want, I want you to need me. And to remind you, I don't kill for pleasure either,"

"No, Vincent, you have a harem of young and beautiful women to give you all the blood you need without killing them," the anger sparked in her eyes. "Me and all of my "peices" are leaving now, I am done talking now, I don't want to see you again, ever. I don't care about what you have to offer, and I don't care about you. The only man I thought anything of is dead," she spat at him as she tore her arm away and stalked to her quarters.

.................................................................................................

The clang of armor and weapons and spells echoed in the hallways from the training room. It made her head ache sometimes. She didn't know why she had to stay until they made their decision. They could've just let her go home until they had decided. Thank the Creator Vincent was leaving her be. They had chosen the new Black Hand, and she was not one of them. Why did they need her to stay? They had questioned and tried to torture her at first. . . . . at first. When they saw that she was just going to laugh at them they stopped. Trying to make her scream at the site of her own blood? She had lost almost all of her limbs once in the arena, before the Grey Prince had taught her all that he knew of battle. They thought a little bit of blood was going to hurt her? Sybelle smiled as she walked the dark paths of their sanctum. She had spellcast her parts back on with her one hand and healed the flesh together herself. She wasn't a very good healer but one knows ones own body. The spelling had left her drained and unconscious for over a week because of it tho. The Prince had fed her gruel and water and kept her alive until she awoke. Then, after he saw that she wasn't going to quit, but go back into the arena, then he taught her. He had been a good friend and all she had brought him was pain. . . and then his absolution. Killig her only friend, and then Lucien had come. . . . These mongrels knew nothing of pain.

A scurrying behind her, a soft cough and silence. "Murderer?" she inquired.

"Yes, Red Eyed Needle, the Esteemed Council of the Black Hand of Sithis would require your attendance to a meeting tonite, m'lady," she said, her head humbly bowed.

"Very well then," Sybelle said. So, they'd decided then. . . very well. Sybelle smiled, let them try and kill her, just let them try, for they would never succeed.

AN: Sooo?? Whadda ya say? Give me some reviews? PLEASE!!


	7. Chapter 7

For the one person who does read my story: Thank you so much for reading my insane drivel. I'm not content to live in this world. I hope I can make myself try hard enough to go to Heaven. I want to fly. Until then, I'll make up these stories and weave these tales until the day I die. Thank you for listening.

Chapter 7

A flash of blue and then the blackness again. A flash of coppery red somewhere lost in a battle she knew she was going to lose. "Hold on," said a deep voice. . .She fought the shadows, they wouldn't claim her if she tried, if the voice could help her. O Creator, she prayed, please help me try. The shadows danced and shifted around her, they whispered to her as they cut holes thru her to her soul. A blade stabbed thru her arm, an arrow thru her heart as she tried to fight. He answered, "I'm here." She wondered why it was so dark, why it was so hard to fight the shifting shapes of blackness. She wondered why, why anything. Why did she need the light? Why did she not want to slip deeper into the darkness, where all these shadows said she needed to be? More arrows and blades and pains and aches that she couldn't name. "FIGHT," said the Creator, and so she fought, fought the shadows, fought the dark. . . and the pain. The darkness shook all over, it shuddered to it's core. A shaft of light came thru, more flashes of colours that didn't belong to the dark. That's where she needed to be, but the darkness claimed the light again, and so she fought harder.

….

Her red eyes opened and closed, a shudder and a blink. She slept and moaned and dreamt. Where was she? Sybelle's eyes slid open. O thank you Great Creator, she thought as she looked around the room. The great gold and green coverlet was swept over her, warming her aching bones and tired body. It shone in the bright shafts of sunlight that came thru the high slitted windows. The chest where all of her best armor and weapons was by the bed. The everlasting flame shone in all it's glory on the alchemical station. Thanks be to the Creator, she thought, I'm home, and alive. She closed her eyes once again, relief and hope sweeping thru her. Worry suddenly creased her brow. How? She was almost too tired to think. Blue eyes, she remembered it now, blue eyes had helped her thru. A mans' voice, and blue eyes. Before the thought was completely registered she was already asleep.

…..

She hadn't slept long at all when she heard noises coming from the other side of the room. Footsteps, she recalled how to judge the stride and weight of footsteps. It was a man, heavy on the heels. He wasn't in a hurry, he strode along, sounding purposeful. She opened her eyes once again as she listened to him walk into the garden room. The man had his back to her, his long coppery red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was studying a plant, and then, very tenderly, he reached out his smooth hand and picked one leaf from a lilac shoot. He turned around.

Shock flooded her mind. How could he have known? How could he have found her? His blue eyes crinkled as he smiled.

"You're awake are you?" He sounded pleased.

Her voice was shaky and rasped as she said, "Who," she coughed, "Who are you?" He smiled again and walked to the alchemical station. The question had brought on a bout of coughing that made her ribs feel cracked and pulled muscles that had been ripped apart by blades, by the end of it all she was exhausted. He laid the leaf down and came to the edge of the bed.

"I think you know of me," he said shortly. "Of course you would have to've considering you've been living in the house my uncle gave to me." She swallowed hard.

"So you've merely kept me alive in order to kill me," she whispered, her raspy voice barely coming from her lips. He smiled that warm smile again, he smiled a lot for a man.

"No, I think not m'lady," he answered. A look crossed his face, a contemplation, she thought. "When you, so haphazardly, may I add, came to the Spire all," he

stopped, " well, "cut up" as you were, I couldn't, in good conscious let you die." He sat on the edge of the bed. He looked down at the coverlet and then back to her eyes, a searching, piercing sort of stare.

"It's beyond protocol that I say this but you said a lot of things in your "sleep", " he said. Sybelle had to order her own mouth shut, she was still dazed and very tired. He was just trying to get her to talk. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of it, never!

"And, what, may I ask, did I say?" She carefully queried. He couldn't know everything, that just wasn't possible. A pained look crossed his face, she knew it, he didn't know anything! Then, he looked back up at her. A deep remorse filled his eyes. Desperation rode her brain, what could he know? She thought.

He took a deep breath. "Well," he started, "you should know that you were very fevered, so I don't know if it's all true." His blue eyes regarded her a moment. Then he started again. "You said that you had been killed by a member of the Black Hand," he looked away and then back to her red eyes again. "I don't rightly know what the "Black Hand" is so I don't know much. Then you said that they were still after you in the dark. That they shifted like demons in the night." He took a deep breath. "Then," he paused looking away again, "a few nights ago, you said that the Creator had helped you escape and that you loved me for helping you," he paused yet again. Sweat was starting to bead up on his brow and lip. His eyes flitted about the room, searching for a way to keep himself from telling her something. She kept her calm mask but inside she was flustered and drawn. She didn't remember telling him any of those things. She didn't even remember him! How could she have said that she loved a man she didn't even know! But that part of her that was in the darkness for so long had known him. If only as the voice of the Creator and as a pair of deep blue eyes.

"Tell me what else I said," her voice still raspy but more steady than before, "or I'll cut out your tongue so that the things you've already said will never be told to any other being." Her red eyes shone cold and deadly as she bored her stare into him. His blue eyes looked almost frantic, pleading with her almost. As cold as the ocean and just as fluid, STOPIT! She thought frantically, she couldn't keep her mind steady. He is not attractive! She told herself frantically.

He drew a deep breath, his eyes began to search the room again, "Well, if you put it that way," he bore his blue eyed stare into hers' likewise, "You kissed me."

Her mind exploded, there's no way, how could she have done something so foolish? What in the world had possessed her to do something so moronic? Her frantic mind put her fragile lungs into a tantric beat as she tried to reason within herself. Panic and chaos took over, she started to shake her head.

"No, nonononononononono, there's no way that that could have happened," she gasped out. He hurriedly got and moved to the head of the bed, he took both her arms and shook her.

"Listen!" His eyes drank in hers and she stopped breathing. "No, wait, just listen, you were in a coma for almost a month, I was glad you were talking at all." He stopped to draw in a breath and then forced her to listen as he explained further. His eyes never once leaving hers. "I don't think anything of it, you were fevered and I'm not a good hand at alchemy as it is. My potions have helped and have made a drastic improvement on your health. I don't expect you to even remember it." He stopped and the silence nearly drove her mad. He expected something, a questioning look came over his face. The kiss, O! She shook her head and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"I didn't do anything or say anything else did I?" She asked him gently.

"No, you mumbled quite a bit and said something about a mare," Sybelle almost jumped out of the bed.

"Shadowmere!"

"Yes, that's it. .."

"No, Shadowmere, is she alright? Where is she? How long have I been like this? Why are you even here?" All of her questions came flooding out of her mouth, try as hard as she did to stop she couldn't. His eyes seemed to be drawing the questions from her. She couldn't stop. What in Oblivion was wrong with her! First thinking a man was attractive, kissing him without knowing, and now, not being able to control her own distress. She felt fuzzy, out of touch with herself somehow but it was all moving so fast and she hurt. . . .

He touched her arm gently again, a look of concern crossed his features, "It's alright, tyme enough for all that later. As for, Shadow Mare, she's fine. Penned up in the vault with my stallion as a matter of fact," he said as he looked rather pleased with himself. " If you don't mind me saying so, I think she's with colt, if you'll pardon my saying so," he laughed. His eyes took on the concerned look again and he said, "As for how long you've been like this," he looked away to the other side of the room, at the star and moon charts hanging there. He thought a moment, "You'd been in a coma for almost one entire pass of the moon. And fevered for almost two now," his eyes pitied her as she started to panic again and again he shook her gently. "Listen, at least you're alright," concern filled his features. She was speechless.

Utterly and hopelessly speechless. "I've made some breakfast, would you like some?" Defiance filled her.

"I don't care who you are or how long you've taken care of me, if you try to say that this is your home," a red hot fire swept thru her, "I will kill you." A hurt look made him jerk back his head. He considered her madness filled eyes and, to her surprise, he began to laugh.

"I'll go get us some breakfast then," he got up and teleported down to the main hall, leaving her, yet again, speechless.

AN: You likey? Me likey! I love how drafted all of this feels. It will get back to normal don't you worry! Can you tell my fave guild is The Dark Brotherhood?! R and R!


	8. Chapter 8

On with the story I suppose. . .

Chapter 8

It took one pass of the moon for Sybelle to realize that recovery came with it's own costs. She was still not as strong as she used to be, but she could stay awake for more than six hours now. Only with Zachariah's help did she recover. Zachariah Crane, a bad hand at alchemy but a real Warrior. The first tyme she had seen her body after she awoke, she nearly passed out. Looking down at her own dilapidated state was almost too much. She hadn't ever looked this bad, not even when the Prince had had to feed her gruel and water to keep her alive. Sybelle cried, and mourned her strength. She lay in bed just trying to stay awake, even talking had been a chore. Sybelle had never talked so much to one person. The truth of things she had once said had been forgotten. Like a misty haze her life before seemed to cloud over. The dreams that haunted her were her only reminders. Her hate for the Black Hand was 

great and in over abundance. It was after one of these dreams that Sybelle had slipped into a rather hysteric state. Her muscles unable to handle her own weight still, she crawled to the large brass doors. It took her two hours to get the things open, but she managed after awhile. Tears staining her cheeks and haunting shapes clawing at her mind she screamed into the windswept rain that poured down on the balcony. She crawled to the edge screaming and crying so hard. . . All that while, he had stood in the darkness of her bedroom. He waited, and waited.

Sybelle threw herself onto the ground by the portals and wept, her tears washed away by the rain and her screams welded to the screeching of the wind. O, how he hurt for her that night. She needed to go thru this tho, just so she could get over it if she could. She needed to pass this sadness by and allow herself to heal. Her power radiated off of her and sprang into the night. Like electricity it soured thru just about everything around her. Suddenly her magick pulled itself inside of her and then it all came 

out in a rush of words. No longer was her power massed together around her but it went out on her words toward the person the message was for.

"NIGHT MOTHER HELP MEEE!! HELP ME!!" she screamed into the night, her face scorched by the fires of her own oblivion. Strings of saliva were hidden from the rain, her eyes shut so tight that they hurt, and her hands trying to hold on, just trying to hold onto the life that she knew she could have. As all of her energy was almost spent, her crying slowed, and her words became fewer. "Helpme. .. . please NightMother please. .. Help me now. . ." and so she cried herself to sleep.

He had cried himself when she had cried out and called to a "Night Mother," she seemed so helpless, but only her own self could start to rebuild what was lost. He went to her side and picked up her frail body, hugging her close to his chest. He stripped off her wet night robe and sat with her huddled to his chest until she was dry and warm. Even as she lie helpless and innocent in his arms fragile and as pail a blue as a 

moonflower he never realized that she was naked, not once as she lay sleeping in his arms. As she started to sleep more soundly she snuggled her head close to his arm and gripped his waist to herself. Her eyes fluttered showing small flashes of her deep crimson eyes underneath those long lashes. He knew that he could start to push her now, test her strength, help her rebuild it because, only now, she was ready. She was finally going to push herself enough to allow herself to be pushed by him. He was, by far, getting too attached to this girl. He laid her gently on the bed and covered her body with the green and gold coverlet. He then laid a chaste kiss on her cheek and teleported downstairs to go sleep in the vault.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Sybelle was getting far too attached to this man. His smile warmed her and he just sat there thinking everything she had just told him was a joke. He raised his light eyebrows.



"That's everything," she said matter of fact-ly, completely serious. He laughed, he was laughing at her! She had just spilled every dark secret she had ever kept and he was laughing at her, great. If he didn't believe her now, he never would, and she couldn't keep hiding from him. She owed too much to those beautiful blue eyes and that warm smile. She owed it to him for all he had done, he needed to know just who he had saved and the new quest she was on. The dreams were too haunting, too terrifying for her to not do something about them. She needed to face the Black Hand, and she needed help, from the only other friend she would likely ever have. And he didn't believe her.

He sat straight in his chair by the bed after he realized she hadn't meant it to be humorous. A frown creased his brow under his red hair and a question was beginning to form in his eyes.

"Yes, it's all true, and don't you dare tell me that it's not, that I'm delusional," she was too exasperated for this. She had frazzled all her 

nerves getting to this point and now that it was done she had none left to put up with his antics. She took a deep calming breath and tried to summon more strength. She needed him to believe her, she wanted him to believe her.

Even as she thought all of her circular thoughts, his own mind reeled at the thoughts in his own mind. How? He thought amazedly. He shook his head as tho to clear it but it didn't help. The Dark Brotherhood, assassinations, and her being on their list was just too much. He decided to take this logically. O.K, he thought, why would they be after her knowing that she was innocent?

"Explain to me the way the fight went again," he said matter of fact-ly, " I need to know all the details no matter how trivial." She looked surprised and then lowered her head and a pained look crossed her face, he laid his hand gently on her own. She looked up at him with those red eyes that he had come to know. There was pain there, and a humiliation that she 

didn't want to share. "Please, Sy," he nearly begged, "This has to be done in order for us to figure this out." A look of surprise passed over her face again. Was he really going to help her? Could she help herself was the real question. The answer to his question was a difficult one. The battle had faded and dreams had taken it's place, the dreams had convinced her that it was the whole Black Hand, but what did she really know? She couldn't be sure, because, to tell the truth, she had been half dead thru the fight and only escaped on her urge to die at home. She hadn't cared whether she had died in the main room or out on the snow covered steps to the front door, as long as she was home. The question was, did she really know what she thought to be true, was, in fact, true? She didn't know, to tell the truth.

AN: PLEASE R AND R!!


	9. Chapter 9

AN: It's been a long tyme guys. . . . Well, I'll just give you the skinny of it: I got pregnant and now my baby is three months

old. That's why I haven't written in so long. And for the mere fact that I got kinda a writers block there for a long tyme. . . .

O well!!!! On with the chappy!!!!!

Chapter 9

It was the hardest thing that she ever remembered doing. Just trying to remember. The dreams, O Creator, the dreams

had been so real. What was real anymore? The only real thing to her now was this place and him and how happy

everything was. Aside from her emotional battles, she was happy. The scars were merely souvenirs now, a reminder of

tyme not well spent and even less appreciated. She needed a spell, one that would unlock her true memories. She knew

of only one plant that could help her unlock the truth: Goat's Beard. Dried and put a few other things with it from the

garden. Then grind it all up and put in the Eternal Flame to smolder. She had heard that one sleeps for days afterward

but she had waited almost a full year to the day, she could wait a few days longer. The only trouble with Goat's Beard is

trying to find it.

Her hair lay across her pillow in tangled matts, no wonder she always cut it before. She raised from the bed and went to

the cupboard. She took out her skinning knife put her hair into a ponytail at the base of her neck and sliced just above the

band. She had never thought about her hair before, how inconvenient it was. It was odd that she should just remembered

it. It always got in the way of drawing her sword from her back and got tangled in her bow and arrows if she didn't cut it.

She held the ponytail up in her hand and looked at the shining red mass of waves. She liked her hair long, even if it was

inconvenient. But convenience is always a plus when you are about to kill a whole mass of people while trying not to get

caught. Her hair could grow back at another tyme, just not now, not while she needed to be back in her old frame of mind.

She placed the hair in the cupboard (she didn't know why she wanted to keep it, she just did.) And then she went to the

portal and went downstairs. Zachariah had venison in the vault down by the wine racks, where it was nice and cold. She

teleported as quietly as she could into the vault, went straight to the chest and pulled out a few good chunks of the meat. If

she made a good stew then there wouldn't be a need to make breakfast the next morning. She tiptoed back to the

portal, and a stray thought crossed her mind: Why deos he sleep down here in the cold? She peeked across the way

and, as she had just thought about it, she felt guilty. Regret swept thru her and down to the very bottoms of her toes and

rushed back to the top of her head.

She let her feet whisper over to his bedside. She could at least give him a little comfort. She laid her hand on his arm

and whispered a spell of warmth over his sleeping form. A small smile thinned his pouting lips and he rolled over and

snuggled into his blanket. The spell would last all night. She felt a little less guilty then. She went upstairs to cook and to

think. She shouldn't be bringing him into her problems like this, she thought. It's unfair that she would only want him with

her so that her chance of survival was higher. She wanted him to live, it didn't matter if she died on her quest, but she

wouldn't be responsible for another death. . . . .

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

He hadn't expected such an intrusion of his privacy that night. Thank the Creator she had thought he was asleep!!! His

late night activities were private ones and he didn't want her to see him like that. He didn't want her to catch him doing

what he knew was unconchinable. He couldn't help himself, he felt like melting ice when he was with her, how could he not

do what he had always done? Women weren't very high on his list of priorities, why was she? She's just another woman,

why is she so special?

He knew he only felt this way because it had been so long since he had been with a woman. That's all it was and she was

the only woman around. These feelings would go away as soon as he reached a city. He had favorites in every town and

Inn in Cyrrodil. But, try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to think of any of those other women late at night. Not

anymore anyway, oh, he did before. Before they started having conversations that lasted all day, before he had seen her

calling to the "Night Mother." She seemed to need him, yet she was so full of fire. What was he to do when she got

better? Would she leave? No, he thought, she has already made it plain that this place is her home. She would never

leave it. Perhaps they could just live here together? Sharing wasn't so hard, he usually was out exploring some cave

killing vampires anyway. That's what he'd do, he'd ask her if she would just share. Maybe he wouldn't be so apt to stay

away for so long then, if he had something to look forward to.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The tyme never came when he could talk to her about his thoughts tho. She had gone with the early morn and had only left

him a note and a ponytail of her hair. The only thing besides her memory of what had happened in the year between her

being hurt and her stealing away in the darkness. The only token that she had been here at all. He went out onto the

steps and looked out onto the massive landscape below. Where could you have gone? He knew that she could be all the

way around the world from him now. She had described Shadowmere's amazing talents. She had said that the groups

hall was in Cheydinhal.

His horse was saddled and his supply bag was packed by true dawn. . . . .

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It took her nearly two months to find the Goat's Beard. She had to go thru three different ruins and seven different old forts

before she found it. The halls and ruins all held their own dangers. A few tymes it was bandits, a few tymes it was goblins

and trolls, even vampires!!! But it was worth it. She placed the purple flower blossoms in her journal and took some of

the five fingered leaves just in case. Now to go on with this insane plan of hers. She could always go back and ask

Zachariah if he would go with her and help her. But she knew that it was her burden to bare. She couldn't let him die for

what she knew was only revenge (and absolution.) If she died then he would be better off. If she lived. . . . . she would

dwell on thoughts like those later. She couldn't allow herself to admit that she cared for him. That isn't the way of a

warrior. She needed to sneak back into the Spire and use the Eternal Flame tho. Surely he had gone to look for her?

That thought merely hurt her more. He would not have gone in search of her because he felt nothing but pity toward her!!!

That's all his kindnesses were!!!! Pity and fear that she would kill him when she was strong enough.

But how could she even think of draining the life from those deep sea eyes? How could she? He didn't know that she

couldn't tho. They had never spoken again of what she had said in her feverish state, what she had done, to her great

relief. She shook her head violently, sending her hair flying from it's needles.

She didn't need to know how he felt about things!!! All she needed to do was get to the Eternal Flame, use it, remember

and go after those responsible for her near demise. After that she could dwell on things that she convinced herself didn't

matter. . . .

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Perhaps she had gone back to the Spire? Hopefully she would realize what a crazy notion all of this was and just go

home. It wasn't his home now, it was theirs. He couldn't think of how it would be to live there without her. She had to've

realized she was wrong and went home, that's why she hadn't come to Cheydinhal, she was waiting for him. But, just in

case, he paid a local spellcaster and some spies to keep a lookout for her and to signal him if they saw her. Surely he

would find her eventually.

His blue eyes shot open wide, his eyelashes scraping against the pillow. He had never thought about any woman this

way. He had never thought of what it would be like to live without them because, well, he had never (really) been with

them. He had always seen women as tools to be used by the needy, if you will. But Sy was different, she was, well . . .

she was Sy. . . . She was his only, and best, friend. If he had been at the Guild where he belonged he wouldn't've gotten

himself into this "woman" mess. But, then again, Sybelle would've died. . . . The Guild could function without him, he

merely stayed to get his cut anymore. There were no more thrilling experiences to be had on the waterfront, everybody

just did what he said. Thrills were to be had elsewyre tho. (AN: LOL!!! To those of you who actually know what Elsewyre

is!!!!! ) He packed his horse and paid the spellcaster. If she wasn't here within a month she wouldn't be here at all. He

needed to tell her everything that he had just found out about himself or die trying to find her so he could.

AN: Surprised? Yeah, it's all kinda like that and stuff. If you haven't figured out why you don't know anything about

Zachariah Crane yet, don't worry, you will. . . . IN THE NEXT CHAPPY!!!!!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!! RANDR!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Wow, I think I'm on a roll here. . . . kinda odd really. . . WARNING: sexual content and "drug use" is in this chapter. . . do

not be offended, I warned you!!!! Btw, there is no sex in this chapter, for those of you who might misunderstand what I've written,

please write to me!!!!! RANDR!!!!!!

Chapter 10

The vault was empyt. . . No horse, no food. . . . Perhaps he had gone to look for her? Hope swelled her

chest and thrust her armored breast in the air, so hopeful. Hope is a futile thing Sy, she thought. She put

her mind to the buisness at hand. No longer needing to be so cautious she took off her cuirass of chameleon

and strolled back to the portal. She poured her power into the portal then went over to the next portal in the

main hall and went to the master bedroom. She lay her armor on the bed, stripping off her gauntlets and leggings.

She had all that she needed to complete the spell. She took her journal carefully from her pack and lay it on

the altar. She flipped lovingly thru the pages til the Goat's Beard lay on the top page. She only needed a

few fresh things and they would all be in the "garden." She placed all of the Goat's Beard into the mortar and

pistol and flipped to the next page in the journal to get the Lybella leaves she had harvested and dried. Then

she went to the garden to get the Fennel Caps and Nirnroot (AN: Yeah, that's right, LOL!!!) that she needed

fresh with all of their juicy, mind enhancing contents. She smiled, it would all be over soon. Thank the Creator!!!!

She ground all of her ingredients together and placed them in the Eternal Flame. The dampness of the Nirnroot

and the Fennel Caps helped it to smolder and create the smoke that needed to fill the room. For getting the full

effect of the spell she needed to be bare of clothing and all magical enhancements.

She stripped off the rest of her armor (the leather peices that went underneath the outer armor) and all of her jewelry,

even the ring that the Gray Prince had given her. She stood there in all her muscled and blue skinned glory, adrenaline

rushing thru her veins, relishing the moment when she would remember. It would be so fine, the looks on their

faces, when she ripped their hearts out and crushed them before their still living eyes. She could almost feel the

blood snaking down between her naked breasts, embracing her heart. She couldn't risk anything to mask the

power of the spell. She needed this so badly, her body ached and throbbed from her arduous journey, but she

could withstand it long enough, and muster enough strength to see this thru first.

The smoke was finally beginning to fill the room. Sy felt her heart begin to race, this is normal, she thought to

herself, I just need to lay down. So she went to the bed and swiped the armor lazily from the coverlet and lay

down. Her heartbeat became a choking thing in her throat. She felt like her lungs were burning and there was

nothing she could do to slow her heart. Why did it have to be so loud? she thought. Why am I falling asleep?

But sleep didn't overcome her, she just lay there, and lay there and lay there. Soon she began to think that the

spell hadn't worked. Why is it so important to kill them anyway? It's not like they're going to come after me,

they think I'm dead, which gives you the element of surprise, her thoughts whirled and swirled. Who almost

killed me anyway? Then it came to her, it had been Vincent himself, the cults pet vampire. He had always

wanted her to become a vampire and she had told him that she would only do it under pain of death. Well,

couldn't blame the bastard for trying, now could she? He had waited until she had gotten away from the others,

waited until she was alone. It was against guild protocol to murder someone who wasn't trying to kill you.

But he came anyway, she had just gotten to Shadowmere, trying with her nearly severed arm to get into

the saddle and flee. He had pinned her against the outer wall of Cheydinhal behind the stables, and then

he had done it, he bit her. He had worried at the wound like a dog worries a peice of old leather, shaking

her and throwing her up against the wall so her feet couldn't touch the ground. Her feet, finding no purchase

on the stones, had wrapped around his waist, he had groaned thinking that she enjoyed his "attentions." Her

anger and hate filled her with one final burst of strength and she had squeezed her legs together, winding them

so tightly around him that he had let go. She knew she couldn't stop, she had to get him on the ground before it

would even be relatively safe. If she let up now he would just get her again. She had nearly crushed his kidneys

by the tyme the sun sparkled in the lowest reaches of the trees. Had it been that long? Vincent threw her from

him and with all of his preternatural speed into the fleeing darkness and went back to the hall. After all,

his stone slab was awaiting him, was it not? It took her forever to get atop Shadowmere, merely flinging

herself over the saddle, not caring whether she was seated properly or not. Shadowmere would never let anything

happen to her, her only friend. . . . besides the man. . . . the man who had saved her. She remembered falling off

of Shadowmere onto the steps of the Spire. The snow wasn't as cold as everyone thought it was, the snow

wasn't cold to itself at all, just because it was a different temperature than everyone else, it felt fine. She

understood how the snow felt as it rained down on her. The snow wanted her to be a part of what it was,

it wanted her to realize that it wasn't cold, it didn't think so anyway. It was what it was and it was cold,

but it was ok with that. She was ok with it too. She didn't mind being cold, because she didn't think it

was cold either. Her brain knew it was cold, but her body didn't seem to register it, maybe that's how

the snow felt all the tyme. Then the man had come and his hands burned her, melted the snow, she could

hear it screaming as it died, just like she would. . . .

Then, came the voice and the eyes, a hovering shape in the seas of darkness came deep pools of blue and a voice

like rumbling thunder. In her stupor she remembered she had thought that it was the Creator come to take her

away from all of the darkness and the seducing whispers that they murmured. She had wanted to go with them,

just like the snow, but then the "Creator" had come and made her think that it would be better to wait, just

hold on, just wait a little while, you'll get better, he had said.

Then the day came that the "Creator" had a face and a name that she couldn't remember then. The "Creator"

turned out to be just a man. A man with a voice that shook her to her core and made her fear death.

Oblivion could wait for her soul, she wanted to know more. . . . more about anything. . . .why couldn't she think.

Then she had said she loved him for saving her, she couldn't help but say it. It had just poured from her like water,

deep blue water. . . . Then she had used what little strength she had had and leaned forward and laid her lips

gently on his. He was a man, not the Creator, he needed a proper thank you, she had thought at the tyme.

But, her soul swooned, his lips felt so real!!!! Warm and slightly damp where his lips met. No memory yet had

been this clear. Then he slid his hands around her, embracing the small of her back, pulling her into his warmth.

She opened her lips and slid her tongue across his parted mouth. He responded in kind and their mouths

danced and sang in the warmth of him. Creator she wished she had remembered this long ago. It felt so good

to wrap her arms around him in the smoke filled room. "I'll never let you go," he whispered against her lips.

And then there were the shadows again, plying for her, whispering promises that she could be happy forever

if she just forgot about that other place

. . . . It wasn't warm here, not like the other place, it didn't seem as happy. . . . And so she decided

to fight again, for her own reasons .. . .

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

He couldn't think straight, he sat his left over food and his pack down by the chest, it was hard to breathe

and even harder not to hear his heartbeat pounding in his head. He just wanted to lay down, he couldn't see

an inch in front of his face. He wasn't any good at alchemy but he knew that something had gone wrong.

The spell felt wrong, she had used too much of something. He was so tired, and his heart was beating so fast,

she had to be here, but he was so tired, he just wanted to lay down. A short nap and then he would look for her

. . . . just a short nap. . . he had ridden so hard to get here, his journey had been so long. . . .

He lay down on the bed and dazed, he couldn't sleep. . . he felt her warmth beside him, how could he

sleep knowing that she was there. . . . he lifted her head from the pillow, her eyes were glazed, he didn't

understand why it didn't bother him. . . . She was so beautiful. . . Her red eyes bore holes into his heart

and stole his breath away. . . he pressed her to him and pressed his lips to hers. . . her breasts heaved against him

but he dared not to touch her that way. . . .that feeling again. . . . something's wrong. . . . but he kissed her

anyway as passionately as he had wanted to during those late nights. . . . the dreams weren't near enough anymore

. . . . his member pounded against the laces on his breaches, all he wanted was her. . . . as her head fell back

and a groan came from her, he collapsed onto his side as his body spasmed, racked with wanting. . . . after all,

she was all he had wanted. . . . maybe he should sleep now?. .. . I'll never let you go, not again, never again,

he hadn't the strength to talk, but he hoped she heard him anyway . . . . he pulled her against him and he fell

into a deep sleep. . . . .and darkness called to him. . . . shadows in a dark night. . . . something was wrong. . . . .

AN: And horribly so!!! I know it's short but you'll live, I promise. You just wait and see what happens next!!!!!

RAND EFFIN R!!!!!


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